What wonders these are; these daffodils and the changing light, a patch Lily-of-the-valley hugging the brick wall and the Bleeding Hearts getting ready to set forth their lovely blossoms. Oh, the promises spring holds in the slowly emerging seeds of the earth and the color of cardinal’s wing or the calling of a mourning dove.
Oh, we complain. It is too cold! No, not more snow! The rains never cease and the creek overflows. Spring spawns devastating tornadoes. We hover over clothes: winter wear today or summer? Both? We ache from the early over exuberance of tending our gardens, or freeze when the sun is out but the temperatures are still hovering at 40 degrees. We paint our toenails, and our fingernails, too, for the dirt under them lingers no matter how hard we scrub. Hand lotions and epsom salts temper our eagerness – and then we go outside for more.
As much as I love springtime, I honestly think I love it the most when it unfurls slowly. I would miss the long-lasting display of daffodils and the sweet thrill of discovering that the celandine poppies have begun their show.
I would rue missing that moment where, suddenly, there is the Brunnera Langstree beginning his show and the sweet blossoms are gathering in the Donald Wyman Crab, also aka Kezzie’s tree, for it was planted when she was born. I would miss the steady show of the common periwinkle. the tentative tips of Mayapples and the steady climb of clematis.
It has been that kind of spring; the slowly emerging kind. While I long for warmer days, I am relishing these remarkable days of a new adventure with each new bud and blossom that appear overnight. I have enjoyed bringing flowers from the garden indoors, in large bunches and in small handfuls. Joy Supreme.
If spring came too quickly, I would not have noticed the flitting and fussing over the backdoor eave and the conversations of is there or isn’t there?
The first inkling of activity came when our Minnesota family were in. Kezzie and I were walking past the garage when something flitted by. We both said an “Oh. What was that?” I suspected a robin. From where I sit at the table, I could see it darting and dashing past the window, just over Tom’s head as he ate. When the car pulled into the drive, there was that flash of activity.
Yesterday, after we took a walk down to the stables, I looked up, over the door, in the sheltering eave, and there was Mama Robin was looking right back at me.
Yes, indeed, I would miss all this drama and beauty if spring unfurled too quickly.
What would you miss?